A Mirror.

A mirror, standing in the middle of a quiet room. It reflects, sure. Its surroundings, other people, the things it sees, the things it once saw. But what it can't see is itself. People slam it when they're frustrated about how they look, and they cry to it when they have no one else to turn to. And the mirror endures: the tears, the pain, the suffering, everything. It stays, but it has no one to fix it. So it just endures, endures, endures, never stopping because it would lose all purpose if it did. It listens and never judges; it stays and never leaves; it endures everything you throw at it. Eventually, it starts cracking. People start losing interest. People start leaving it to rot. And regardless of how much good it did before, they don't care; it's outlived its usefulness.

At the end of it all, the mirror is left cracked and broken. It doesn't see this; of course it doesn't; there isn't another mirror to help it see itself. But it's still hurt, still cracked, still suffering. Not because of the pain it absorbed, but because it never got the support and care it gave to others. It was used as a tool, and nothing else, as they have done a far too good a job hiding it from others.

They stay, they listen, they fight, they stand beside you, they carry it with you. And more often than not, they carry much more than they're letting on. But once they break, they stop reflecting clearly, people stop seeing them, and they stop being useful. And before anyone realizes how much they're trying to carry, they're nearly engulfed in the same pit they saved so many others from. It's not their fault either; it's because they chose to not speak out. The mirror always cracks, but never shatters. They stay silent because they feel like they have to; after all, it would be a burden to others if they did. And they end up following the same dark path that they just led others out of.

But they already expect that they're supposed to be strong, the obligation to stand tall, and so they refuse to believe it and keep trying to carry more. A cracked mirror still reflects, after all. But once people see the cracks, once people finally notice something off, it's far too late, and they're already down that path they worked so hard to pull others away from. It happens far more often than you realize. People who support others often carry the heaviest weights, not because of what others told them, but because they try to help you carry yours.

This isn't your fault, nor is it theirs. It's just what they've grown accustomed to their whole lives. Too focused on others to worry about themselves. Too caring to say no. Too worried to set boundaries. In the end, it destroys them. But they don't care, as long as the person they try to help survives.

All I'm asking is one thing: if you have that person. The person who is always by your side no matter what, the person who carries your weight with you, the person who always listens. Check up on them. It might matter more than you realize.

To Rest.

Let me tell you a story.

One day, a man and another person lived in their shared apartment. It wasn’t particularly fancy, but it was comfortable, and that was enough for both. One day, they both met in the living room. One of them chose to sit on the couch, admiring the view from his couch. The other snickered.

“So, this is how you’ll spend your evening?”

The other man seemed confused.

“What are you implying?”

“Well, if you rest now, you won't be able to rest later.”

“If you use that mentality, then you would never rest, would you?”

The man grabbed his mug from the small coffee table parallel to the couch, leaning backwards as he sipped the hot coffee slowly.

“But this is a simple pleasure; aren’t you more willing to sacrifice this for something more?” The other man commented, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”

The other man grew irritated.

“You have unfinished assignments to do, y’know.”

“I did half; I’ll do more later.”

Chuckling, the man placed the mug back onto the coffee table.

“But that’s procrastinating.”

“It’s called self-care.”

…

Hm, where have I heard that before?

We are taught that we should sacrifice our now for our future. But maybe that isn’t the whole truth. It’s not that it's bad, of course. But maybe we should reframe a few things.

The sunset is temporary; it's going to be here for a short period of time. Worrying about it going away won’t make it stay longer, and preparing too much for nightfall will make you miss the beauty of the present.

The endless pursuit of something can make you lose everything. That includes the future as well, despite how much you don’t believe me.

Let me ask you something.

Have you ever felt accomplished when you finish something?

For most of you, the answer is saddeningly no.

Our goals keep changing, expectations keep moving, goals keep rising. Rising so high up that most of the time they become almost impossible to reach. And yet, we are encouraged to keep chasing it no matter what, to sacrifice the now for that goal. But I think it's okay to just… exist for a moment.

To let yourself be there for just a second, to be at peace and unpreoccupied. Thousands will disagree; many more will call it idealistic. But maybe, just maybe, that's what we’ve been missing this entire time.

Powerlessness.

A position where you are completely unable to act, change something, or make a difference.

We’ve all been there.

That one interview you thought you nailed but didn’t get accepted. That one global issue you think should obviously be handled, but governments are busy doing their own things. Maybe something else. But we’re all familiar with the feeling of powerlessness.

Sometimes it's enraging; sometimes you accept it. Other times, it’s disappointing.

You feel like you have the world in the palm of your hand, when reality does its thing and destroys that fantasy.

Sometimes you lay in bed. Wondering about everything.

If everything will be okay or not.

If everything will turn out fine.

If they’re really telling the truth.

If they’re really okay.

And sometimes you cry.

You cry because you can’t stop it.

We both know that.

And it’s okay.

It’s not possible to control everything.

It’s not possible to know everything.

We work with what we have, and that’s that.

It’s frustrating.

But we can’t change it.

Your anger is justified.

Your sadness is justified.

Your grief is justified.

Your fear is justified.

And that’s okay.

I can’t promise everything will be okay.

I can’t promise much, actually.

But I can tell you this much;

Nothing you fear is irrational.

Nothing you feel doesn’t make sense.

Maybe to others they do. But those surely came from somewhere.

And that somewhere matters.

Because sometimes you cry.

Because that’s all you can do.

And that's okay.